The Look of Silence
by Big Diesel
Summary: Senpai-kun has been the target of his dear junior, Ryoba Aishi. This story documents the ordeal shared with Senpai and Ryoba. What things can happen during their ordeal? Will Senpai submit to her love? Will Senpai escape? Can the Journalist stop Ryoba? T for now, but subject to change.
1. Her Eyes Were Watching Senpai

The cherry blossoms arrived like whipped cream on the trees in triumphant colors of pink and white. The petals burst out from the lower branches, leaving the tips still yet to bud. The trees were scattered all over the park as it welcomed visitors to see all of its glory.

Truthfully, he never liked the color of the cherry blossoms or the tree itself. The tree never bothered him. It never gave him any bad memories. He just did not like the tree. He often thought that subjecting himself to a cliche was abhorring; as many of his peers were in awe of the budding foliage each spring. He wasn't. As he was lying on the ground, he could finally see the candid beauty of the cherry blossoms firsthand.

The spring's eve complimented the scenery. The pastel colors of red and orange saying farewell to the day, fulfilling the town's purpose. The clouds, meshed into the peach-like sky, gave way to the evening while the stars slowly enter into view.

It reminded Senpai of a painting that he did in his art class. Credited as an amateur painter, he enjoyed his time in art class. It gave him life, he often thought. In his world, he was God and the canvas was his garden of Eden. He had the ability to put what he fancied. He had painted meadows, ponds, mountains, anything showing natural scenery. There were times he painted classmates, especially a girl he was very fond of. Painting gave him a sense of being. He felt that he had a purpose. Along with his interest in painting, he was also fond of the outdoors. Inherited from his father, when he was younger, he often traveled with his father to the lake outside of town where his father worked as a fish farmer. He remembered being the precocious child, sitting on the boat, watching his father gather the fish with a net. The look on his father's face showed tiredness, but on the other hand, it showed dedication. Watching his father's work ethic made him admire nature and hard work; both of which were a factor on the man he became.

In school, Senpai was very successful in academics and sports. He scored above average on exams and was on the top tier of his class. He was also the school's ace on the baseball. His test scores and his success in baseball gave him noticed from schools like Keio, Fukushima, The University of Tokyo, and Kyoko. With his hopes on the University of Tokyo, he strived harder for success. Things were going well for the happy-go-lucky kid, or so he thought.

The clouds wavered further and further, ushering in the sky as it went deeper into the void. It was like the earth was opening the sky, welcoming the heavens in the forms of stars. If he could, he wanted to reach the stars. He wanted to go into the heavens. It looked so close, but so far away, he thought to himself.

It was better to be there than where he was in this particular juncture. Not too long ago, he was ambushed by a shadow of the night. He got away from his captor, but a present was left for him. He gnashed his teeth while the syringe clang to his neck. The pain was horrible, he thought, as it spread from his neck. It was like a shot in the dark. One moment, he was headed home from baseball practice. The next, he was met with his "shadow."

He cursed himself on his tardiness from baseball practice as he was running away. Baseball practice went longer than expected; causing him to miss the train. Having no other choice, he wandered the neighborhood until the next train arrived. He could have waited at the station, but prefer to venture and see the neighborhood where most of his classmates called home. That decision led to his fate.

He walked the lone road in the neighborhood that surrounded the school. The school he attended was the prestigious high school, Akademi High. It was home to the elite. The sons and daughters of businessmen, doctors, lawyers, professors, entertainers, and the like came to the school in hopes for success. These were the children who were the future leaders of Japan. They were going to be on top of the caste system; the upper echelon of Japanese society. Unlike them, Senpai was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was raised by his father in lower middle class. His father balanced his schedule working as a fish farmer and a fee collector for the Japanese television, NHK. The latter was not Senpai's favorite. When he was in elementary school, every other weekend, he begrudgingly went with his father on his rounds. Knowing he would see his friends or his classmates, he wore a hoodie to hide his face; or hid behind his father.

He had never met his mother. She left his father when he was a few months old. He was an only child. His father was the only family that he had. His father gave him no explanation of his mother or her whereabouts. If he ask, his father displayed sternness and anger. After a while, any conversation of his mother ceased.

Baseball came easily for Senpai. Since he was five years old, he became fond of the sport. His skills allowed him to become successful in little league and with his teams in elementary and middle school. At his last year of junior high, he sent his team to national championships. Although they lost to a neighborhood prefecture, they were happy that Senpai brought them that far. It was because of Senpai's sportsmanship that caught the attention of Akademi's coach. The following day after the championship, he was awarded a baseball scholarship to the high school. Upon hearing the announcement, his father was overjoyed. He was excited that Senpai was blessed with an opportunity to attend a reputable school. He saw how excited his father was on knowing he was attending school with the future leaders of Japan. Honestly, Senpai did not care about being apart of the elite. Opting the route of being a loner, he was happy to play baseball. If that school gave him an opportunity, he was going to take it.

Upon arriving to the high school, he was met with the eyes of the students that despised those who were not apart of their circle. A _commoner_ , or someone that did not come from money, was the nickname he was given. The students were aware of his status and why he was there. They reminded him every single day.

For the first few months, he had become a victim of hazing. The students wrote expletives on his desk; his locker was vandalized; his clothes went missing; anonymous hate mail; and constant physical attacks by his classmates. No matter what agony they gave him, no matter the bruises they inflict upon him, he remained strong. His father always consoled him through his storm. _Show me a man that resorts to violence. I'll show you a man that runs out of good ideas._ Taking his father's philosophy to heart, he overcame the struggles at school by taking charges of his ordeals. Despite the cards he was given, he never once fought back. Whenever he got into fights with his classmates, he always responded with a smile, "Is that the best you can do?"

In time, he adjusted to the school. The hazing eventually stopped and the harassment ended. He eventually became friends with a few of his classmates. His baseball team accepted him when they qualified for the championship. Because of Senpai, their baseball team were always in the playoffs. They have yet to win, but the name of Akademi rang through the ears of many high schools in Japan.

The rest of high school was a peaceful solace, so to speak. It was not until his senior year where he faced a new form of danger. No words of defense could not stop this new force. The individual wanted one thing and one thing alone-Senpai.

As he staggered around the corner, his brother was becoming ragged. It was become difficult to breathe. He clutched his arm around his chest. He felt that his heartbeat was slowing down. His eyelids were drooping, getting heavier, and blinding him. He was noticing his body was getting heavier. Whatever it was in the syringe was taking effect. He feared that it won't be long until he was going to lose conscious, or worst. Troubled thoughts ran in his mind. _Am I going to die? Why did they do this? Please help me. I don't want to die. Will I am able to go home? Will I make it home? Will I see my dad again?_

He was walking toward an open space that appeared to be a park. The venom surged into his chest, causing him to feel hotness. It burned, making him sweat and making him panicked. _No, I can't die_ , he thought, _I am going to fight this._ Resilient and determined, Senpai ventured into the open area to finding shelter. He needed to be somewhere that he won't catch the eye of his captor. However, his eyes were becoming blurry, inhibiting him of sight. _Damn it! Don't you quit on me_ , he thought. _Please God, I got to do this!_

A laughter came from a distance.

"Senpai," said the voice. "Senpai, please stop! I don't want to hurt you," The sound was melodic. It was like a very twisted sing-song. The voice was gentle and feminine. "Senpai, darling. Why are you running away? Are you playing hard to get? That's okay! It's gonna be so much fun before I catch you, Senpai darling!"

His stomach churned as he heard the familiar voice. "Oh no! That voice!" He spat from his voice when knowing who was his captor, or his shadow of the night. "It can't be. Not her, not her. Anybody but her. No, no, NO!" His face tensed. His hands wrapped in a fist as he cursed himself for making his fatal mistake. A tremendous headache throbbed from his head. It pounded like a nail and hammer. Especially when hearing the haughty, gruesome, murderous, yet heavenly voice of his kouhai.

"Darling, don't you run from me," said the voice. "You are making things worse for yourself. Yet again, if this your crooked attempt of being a tease, then I love it!"

Her laugh was maniacal, something that a killer would do in a midst of rage when the killer murders their victims. He had seen it in movies he had purchased or in the manga books he read. The only difference was that this killer was a female and was occurring in real life.

Then, the sound of the night went silent. It became eerie. Like a vacuum sucked all of the sound from all around him, he knew that something was wrong. He realized that that he was feeling the effect from the syringe.

He tried to scream, but he was unable. His voice faded. It wasn't long until he landed on the ground. The impact nearly made him breathless. As he lied on the ground, he saw a beautiful night. The stars showed a lovely display. On any given night, he would have enjoyed it. The cherry blossoms waved gently into view.

 _They are not so bad_ , he thought.

His eyes widened when he saw the familiar kouhai standing above him. Her grey hair flowing into the wind like wool. Her eyes were grey and pale. She stood over him and displayed a huge smile on her face.

"I caught you, darling," she said in a sing-song.

His eyes shut and silence followed thereafter.


	2. The Taste of Rain

Senpai displayed a sign of relief after washing the last eraser for the chalkboard. The erasers were ready for class for the following morning. It was not his usual after school assignment. However, in a favor of a friend, he did. In return, his friend will deliver his mother's famous fried fish corn dogs. Senpai's mouth watered by that thought. It reminded him on how his father used to make it. A recipe handed down from his father's father, it was a delicacy on days of exhaustion. Along with a drink of milk tea, or in his father's case, a glass of beer, it became very refreshing. The pair would sit outside on the patio and eat while hearing the sounds of the cicadas.

It wasn't like that now as his father was getting older. Senpai had taken over much of dinner preparations. Speaking of which, it was getting late and he needed to head home. He took the classroom key and locked the door. He hung the key on a nook outside of the teacher's office and left the school.

Senpai was what he was always known as. He did have a real name, but he had never used it. Opting for that name than his former nickname of commoner, Senpai felt more suitable for him. He did not look at as a badge of honor, but saw that it gave him meaning. Senpai got hard on himself on his indecisiveness. One of his classmates, who was an occult club member, told him it was because of his birthday in September. A Libra, he mentioned. He never took any interest in horoscopes or numerology, but being indecisive was a quality of a Libra, then he was guilty as charge.

He stretched his arms while exiting the school. He had enough time to get to the train station. No time to explore the neighborhood this time, he thought. He wanted to get home and cook dinner for him and his father.

As he ventured on the street to the train station, Senpai saw a flash of light coming from behind him. He turned around and saw a blue, two door Hyundai pulling alongside him. Being vigilant for predators or delinquents, he stood on guard. He kept a knife in his backpack. It was a secret compartment he created a year ago. It was hiding in plain sight so there won't be any monitors drawing suspicion. A dedicated pacifist, it was on the urging on his father; just in case.

The driver of the Hyundai turned the lights out. The door opened. There was still enough light in the area to recognize that it was a man. He appeared to be middle aged. He was sporting a khaki-colored trench coat. It looked very expensive, Senpai thought. He was wearing slacks and dress shoes. He wore a hat that looked too cliche from the Sherlock Holmes era or any run-of-the-mill detective on the black and white television shows. The man closed the door and walked casually to Senpai.

"Can I help you with anything," asked Senpai.

"In fact, I think you can," answered the man. "He pulled out a small case from the pocket of his trench coat. Inside, he pulled out a cigarette. He took a match and lit the cigarette before discarding the match on the ground. He took a few puffs before pulling something else from his pocket.

"They call me the Journalist," answered the man as he showed Senpai his badge. The badge showed that he worked for a privately owned newspaper. The name was unfamiliar. In fact, the city it was located was not even in this prefecture. "I always show this to anybody so they won't think I am a creep." He chuckled while taking another smoke from his cigarette. "Listen, son. Let me ask you a question? Did you come from that school just earlier?"

Senpai was vigilant. Becoming guarded and defensive, he carefully thought of his response. "I may have been in that particular area, but I can't quite say I am a student there."

"Really," asked the journalist. In his other pocket, he pulled out a small notepad. He shuffled a couple of pages before putting it away. "Let's see. Akademi High school attire: white tops and blue bottoms. The cufflinks on your wrist have the kanji of the school's name. The collar on your shirt has the school logo. May I need to say more."

"No, no you don't," answered Senpai. He felt a little defeated and a little annoyed of this sudden stranger. "Is there a reason on why you are here? Let alone wanting to hear from me?"

"I do, but I rather not say at this point of time," said the journalist as he finished his cigarette and then putting it out on the concrete. "If you have time, I would like to have a talk with you somewhere that is not around here."

"I wish I can talk, uhh journalist? But I can't," said Senpai. "Actually, I am late for the bus and I need to get home in time to prepare my father's dinner."

"Okay, I see," said the journalist. He pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote it on his notepad. He tore the paper and gave it to Senpai.

"Here is my number," said the journalist. "When you can, give me a call. I really have some questions and I think you can answer them."

"Is this really serious," questioned Senpai.

"More than you will ever know," said the journalist. "Call me as soon as you can. It is very urgent." The journalist tipped his hat and returned to his car. In an instant, the blue Hyundai disappeared from the horizon. In Senpai's hand were the number to the journalist. He put in his pocket and went to the train station.

 _His face shows urgency. Maybe I will give him a call._

When the weekend arrived, Senpai left the house to run his errands. At least that was what he had told his father. On a given weekend, Senpai spent most of his time either reading manga, watching a baseball game with one of his friends at their house, or walk throughout the town. Senpai reflected on how much of a deep thinker he was. His father told him that overthinking should not be his schtick. He lamented, then digress. In his hand, he had a piece of paper of the journalist's contact as well as the place of their meeting.

On the phone a few nights back, the journalist spoke briefly. Something like he was unsure that the landline might be traced or intercepted. It briefly worried Senpai, but overlooked it as the journalist's paranoia. He told Senpai to talk to him on an outside line. Where he lived, there weren't many pay phones, but the journalist told him to go to an pachinko venue near his home. The journalist had a connect there.

Waiting for the right moment when his father drifted into sleep, he snuck from his window and made his way out into the street. He had never been out past curfew and threw him off of routine. In a way, it was sort of exciting. He pictured himself as one of those detectives from the Hardy Boys novels. Within an half hour, he made it to the venue. The inside of the place contrasted the solace from the outside. It was loud, filled with those emptying their pockets for a chance to win. Men and women alike just chucking in quarters and marbles in hopes of being a winner. The air was a condensed fog of smoke. Senpai could have sworn he saw a skull bone in the midst. Was that a piece of work or an adamant warning?

Following the direction of the journalist, he made his way to the counter of the venue. It was an older gentleman who seem like he saw more than the Tokyo Riots or the air raids on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. He had a cigar in one hand and a whiskey in the other. His teeth were more yellow than a caution sign on a traffic light. He gave one look at Senpai and spat through his teeth. Senpai cringed at the sight.

"So, you must be the boy," said the raspy voiced gentleman. "That journalist bastard paid me some great change to allow some kid into this bar."

"Yes, sir. My humble apologies," said Senpai as he bowed before the man.

"Hey, hey," said the gentleman. "Easy with the bowing. Don't want folks to think that this is a sting operation." He looked away and back to Senpai. "You are looking for a phone. Correct?"

Senpai nodded to his question.

"Phone is around in the back. You have thirty minutes, then you are out," said the gentleman. "I am running a business, not a sting or some shit."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!" Senpai bowed once again, although it was a dismay from the gentleman. He left the counter and went to a hallway that lead to an office. The office was more of a closet than it was an office. It had a desk, a typewriter, a phonebook, and a directory for the venue's private line. Senpai knew it was meant for female company by the pictures of women in compromising positions sticking from the book.

He found a seat and saw the phone. He picked up the phone and dialed for the journalist. He waited a few rings before it was picked up.

"You made it! Good! Had me worried for a bit," said the journalist.

"How so? I thought this would be a routine call. About you wanting to know a couple of questions," said Senpai.

"Oh, it is," said the journalist, "I just want to be sure that you weren't being tailed. Consider it as a journalist's intuition."

"Anyway, I won't talk much on this line as well," said the journalist.

"Don't tell me because it could be traced," said Senpai.

"No, the owner is just a real pain in the ass," said the journalist. "Not surprised if he gave you his rant about running a business, not a sting operation, or some kind of other shit."

Both chuckled at that response. "I asked you in particular because I need some inside information about the school."

"Why me in particular," asked Senpai.

"Rather not say over the phone. That is why I am not saying any names. Just in case if we are being traced," said the journalist. "There is something in the water at that school. Something really big and I need someone like you to help me."

"Help you," asked Senpai.

"Yes. Trust me. When we get together, I can explain more," said the journalist. "Listen, it is best that we don't in town."

"Why not," asked Senpai. He then added, "Yet again, I already feel where this is going."

"Oh, you are catching on, dear friend," said the journalist. "Grab a pen and take notes. Take a train to the nearest city in the neighboring prefecture. There will be a cab waiting for you. It will have three black markings on its front passenger door. The cab will take you to the Lucky Palace Hotel. Leave for 11 AM. You should arrive by 2 or so."

"Anything else, I should know or be worried about," asked Senpai.

"Nothing as of now, but just be careful," said the journalist. "What might be in front of you may not be what it seems. One tiny change in your environment can be as big of a significance. Talk to you soon."

Senpai hung the phone. He grab the note and put it in his pants pocket. He exited the venue and walked home. As he walk, the final words of the journalist were ingrained in his head.

His brain was going through a whirlpool. His mind was drifting from one thought to the next. He was nauseated. Never in his life has he been placed in that position. Granted in the past, he had faced bullying. But never to the extent on how he was feeling.

 _Water, water._ He thought to himself. He was parched for water. He wanted something to alleviate his throbbing headache; the sickness. He needed something cool and soothing. He was feeling hot. Unsure it was the syringe or the environment. Something in his brain was alerting him to open his eyes.

Listening to his brain, he quickly opened his eyes. As his senses started returning, he saw his surroundings. It was a very well-lit room. Made from quarry rock, the walls were thick like a medieval castle. It had a warren of small rooms with only one way in or out. Close to the low ceiling, just under the rotting beams that suspend the floor above were windows. They were long and skinny, mostly covered in soil that lightened the darkness.

"Oh my God," he groaned. "Where am I? Where am I?"

He then sense something coming from behind his neck. It was hot and moist. Like a vent exposing steam, but vent was producing a feminine, laughing sound. The voice was humming a haunting tune. It was macabre and frightening. It sent chills down his spine. His mind became alert. Danger was hunting him that night and now he was in her den.

"Oh, darling! You are finally awake!" The gray-haired, silver tongued girl made her appearance from behind him and into front of him. She was wearing a purple tank top that exposed her stomach. She wore a pair of short jeans that went well above her knees. She had a sweet fragrance of honeydew. She had an inviting smile. She was in a happy mood. Under any normal circumstances, this would be wonderful. However, fear erupted from his mind as he knew that trouble was there in front of him.

"Oh, my sweet darling, you are finally awake," said the girl.

"Ahh, what," asked Senpai.


	3. Under the Midnight Sun

His name was Pancho. That was what he was known as. That was what he wanted to be known. He had a real name and only his mother and his wife were allowed to call him by his Christian name. It was real unfortunate to learn that his mother passed away before he entered elementary school and the love of his life walked out on him on their fourth anniversary. He hid his eyes behind those dark-tinted Ray-Bans. The authenticity of its glassware was in question, but Senpai knew he took care of his items. His face was wrinkled. Age was setting for this old timer, but there was not one spot of a blemish or a pimple on his skin. Does he visit the salon? Does he thoroughly cleans his face? Those questions raised itself in his mind like antennas. However Senpai did not say a word. The only things he collected from Pancho was his name, the simple facts of his family, and his occupation-a taxicab driver.

Pancho was a stout gentleman. From Senpai's angle in the backseat, Pancho may have been five feet even or at least five foot one inches. He had an inflated cushion on top of his seat supporting the older, clean-faced gentleman. Senpai jokingly said to himself that the cushion had to support his height so that his feet could reached the petal. Suddenly, he looked away when Pancho locked eyes with him. Senpai could not tell with his sunglasses, but the atmosphere inside of the taxicab was becoming stale and awkward. He adjusted himself to the seat and rode with the motion as Pancho put the car into gear and drove away from the terminal.

The ride to the train station was not bad. It was not comfortable. "More of a snug than a magnum" was the best fitted phase for his trek to meeting the journalist. He was a lone minnow in the can of sardines, tightly compacted in the train to the next town. Surprised with the revelation of the unexpectancy of visitors going to his next destination, the town was not even spotted on any major maps. The connections were not going to any major towns. The train route was very local within the surrounding prefectures. Nevertheless, he had to make due for the few hour journey to the next town. If there was bright side to the journey, it gave Senpai a sense of wonder, and also the train conductor gave the uncomfortable, irritated passengers a free meal and a discount on their next visit with their train line. A silver lining in every stitch of life, Senpai concluded.

It was in the middle of the afternoon while Senpai got inside of the taxicab with the widely noticeable three slashings on the passenger side door. The inside of the cab was more of a confessional booth in a Catholic church. The inside was dark and so were the windows of the vehicle. The would be glass at the front of the cab was substituted with wood grain with egg-crate foam. The foam was spray painted in black, supporting the background of the cab. Senpai concluded that it had to be a private taxi line. Having these kinds of things in the cab must have to violate many of the local town's statures and gave him an eerie feeling. Was he even sure he was going to meet the Journalist, he thought. Was this a setup to lure boys like him to another town without getting caught to do nefarious deeds? He shook those thoughts out of his mind. Regardless, he had to admit; he easily accepted the Journalist's invitation without any time of rationalization.

It was something about Senpai that made him too trusting. He had always gave anybody the benefit of the doubt. He believed that he had inherited from his mother. His father had mentioned it once. There was a local woman who was known for taking care of the homeless and the elderly. Many of her neighbors were proud at her deed, but at the same time, were grimaced. Her welcoming personality would invite some of the undesirables into the area, creating a fear of uncertainty of doubt and fear for the other women and their children. Once, when he was eight, the woman invited the young, naive Senpai over for some cookies and tea. Senpai remembered how her one room flat smelled of strawberries and peaches. Throughout the entire visit, people from all walks of life entered her domicile. She fed them, counseled with them, and sat with them. Senpai quietly drank his dimbula tea and watched her work. When coming home and his father learned of his visit, he angrily scolded him for going into that house with a stranger. "God, you are too damn trusting. Just like your mother." It was the last time he had ever step foot into that lovely angel of a woman's home. He sensed a good spirit from the woman, but it did stop him from another scolding from his father.

The sound of soft rock interrupted his thought and returned him to reality. The car ride was smooth and did not show any bumps. He was not even sure he was riding in a vehicle. It felt like an airplane, or riding on an assembly line; something he had neither experienced. The music was coming from the speakers in the backseat. He felt every vibration, every note the musicians were making. It was very detailed, he thought. It reminded him of going to a movie theatre. Even so, the sound system was custom made. There was no way a privately owned cab could afford something of this worth, Senpai thought.

"This is a great sound system." Senpai complemented Pancho. Pancho silently concurred by nodding his head. "I can see that you are not much of a talker." Senpai was not much of a talker either, but he knew if he was riding in a car with a stranger, it was best to keep a conversation going.

"Not really. I prefer to let my music and the car do much of the talking." There was no emotion behind Pancho's words. It sounded like a robot from one of those Macintosh computers that he saw in a television commercial.

"With this song that you are playing, how do you feel," asked Senpai.

"Like magic, my young boy, like magic," said Pancho. Pancho adjusted the knob to the radio to allow Senpai to listen. "Who is that playing?" Senpai asked with curiosity.

"The song is called "Magic."" Pancho said with much certainty. He stopped talking for a moment while changing lanes into an exit that led to another highway. Looking at the signs, Senpai tried to recognize anything that would lead him to his destination. As of now, nothing yet.

"If I remember correctly," said Pancho while putting his finger to his lip. "I want to say it made by a Scottish group called Pilot. Are you into rock music?"

"Not really." Senpai sat his hands on his lap and twiddle his fingers. "I have never really had time to listen much to music. My father kept an old record player and the only collections he had were either enka or jazz."

"So your father was an old Showa boy," asked Pancho. "Did you father ever grew up in the Kyushu area?"

"Matter of fact, he did," confirmed Senpai with much surprise from Pancho. Rather Pancho caught his Kyushu dialect or he was predictable. Either way, Senpai was pleased to just have a conversation without further awkwardness.

"Did you like enka," asked Pancho.

"It was not much of a choice in my household," said Senpai. His voice soon became faint. "My father is a very proud Japanese man. I don't want to admit it. But I think he is much of a xenophobe and a nationalist."

"Oh, there are plenty of them here," said Pancho. "I faced plenty of that since my hafu heritage."

"You are a foreigner," asked Senpai.

"Whoa, take it easy with that term, young boy," said Pancho. His voice was naturally deep, but quickly rose when something of a surprise came to him.

"Sorry, I did not mean to offend," said Senpai. It was the truth. Senpai did his best to be sensitive on such topic, especially with race.

"I am a citizen of the rising sun. Born and raised. I grew up in the Southern islands of Okinawa. My father was Mexican and my mother was from Okinawa. My father came from the States." Pancho tipped his sunglasses showing a glare from the sun and that hit Senpai's eye. "Sorry about that, young lad. My eyes aren't what they used to be."

There was silence for a moment. It looked that Pancho was choosing the next set of words to say.

"I am sorry that I did not answer your first question. Thank you. I saved a ton of money to have this kind of gear in my cab."

"Is this your only cab or do you have others," asked Senpai.

"This is my one and only," said Pancho. "I am the owner and the sole employee of this cab. It is very exclusive and reserved for special clients. Special clients like _you_."

"Like me," said Senpai with the hint of surprise coming from his voice.

"I am going to assume that the Journalist only gave you very light information of his operation. That was always his business. The less you know the better." Pancho gave himself a slight chuckle as he changed lanes once again.

"How long have you worked for the Journalist?"

"Not too long. Maybe four years or so."

"What were you doing before then. May I ask?"

"Classified, I am afraid. Let's just say that the Journalist gave me a new leaf on life. He pulled a lot of strings to get me where I am today. Because of him, I am highly grateful."

"Then the Journalist must have some high power."

"Undoubtedly. Frankly, in my opinion, he is very minute under the court of law."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the Journalist is very low rate. He intends to stay low rate for many reasons. One of which is the higher you go, the more well-know you get. The more well-known you get, the more attention you attract."

"Do you have any idea why the Journalist arranged a meeting with him at this particular place."

"I can't quite say. I am just the passenger. I get them in and I get them out. That is all of the details that I want to know."

Pancho looked back while scratching his shoulder. "The Journalist is the kind of guy that wants information for the greater good, more or less. I am not saying that he is dirty with his game. But I will say that sometimes the Journalist keeps his gloves dirty, if you catch my drift."

"That sounds very eerie to me," said Senpai with a hint of concern from his voice.

"Not to worry about, kid. Sometimes I like stirring the pot a bit before getting you guys to your destination. The Journalist is very discrete and prefers to keep this closed and opaque."

After another twenty or thirty minutes, Pancho arrived at the hotel. Instead of going to the front entrance, he drove the cab into the parking garage. He drove a few floors before making it to the fifth floor of the garage. He parked the car and shut off the lights. He exited the vehicle and opened the door for Senpai.

"I thought I was going to meet him at the hotel," said Senpai.

"You will meet him," said Pancho. Pancho kept a cool appearance despite the situation they were in. Senpai knew that Pancho can handle being under pressure very well. He knew whatever Pancho did in his past, he kept a very calm and professional demeanor.

"The red Honda next to us," said Pancho. "Step inside and open the door. There will be a lady in a black dress that is waiting for you inside of the car. She will take you to the Journalist."

"Why is this getting more complicated than it should be," asked Senpai.

"Remember, kid. I am just the messenger. Plus, it is an extra precaution," said Pancho. "Something must be in the water for the Journalist to be this discrete." He scoffed and then spat on the ground.

"Good luck, kid," said Pancho as he bowed in front of Senpai. Senpai bowed in return.

"I hope this is worth the journey," Senpai said to himself. He looked at the red Honda and then faced back at Pancho. Pancho nodded in confirmation. He walked and opened the passenger side door. Inside, like Pancho said, was a woman in a black dress. He closed the door and the woman automatically started the car. Senpai looked at the window as he saw Pancho tipped his sunglasses before returning to the car.

The circle of board questions perplexed Senpai. How powerful was this Journalist, he thought. What reason did the Journalist arranged such a private meeting, he further thought. Senpai thought through and through about was he making the right decision. Be as it may, he thought, he was now already involved and might as well continue on with the journey.

* * *

"Oh, my sweet darling, you are finally awake," said the grey haired girl.

Senpai was still in a daze, knowing that the medicine was still in effect. His head was beating profusely and the only thing that was still on his mind was that he wanted water.

"Water, water," he screamed. He was coughing and his mouth was dry. His entire body was on fire, but it did not look that the woman did not even care of his current ailment. He was a person on display and she was the observer. By the looks of it she was enjoying every single moment.

"Water, water," he screamed again.

It was falling on deaf ears.

She smiled. Her shining eyes gleaming brightly from the small speck of the sun coming from the windows of the basement that was currently his prison.

"Watching you sleep is always fun, but it gets a bit old after six hours, you know," she said.

"What's happening," he panicked. "Where am I?"


	4. Deep

_Depthness_

Senpai put both palms on his cheek to warm himself. The contact widened his eyes when cold hit cold. Although a shock, his palms quickly accommodated the warmth to his cheeks. He had to sustain. It was something that he begrudgingly had to do. It was a cold, wintry afternoon. Exams were finished and so was the completion of the school year. No longer was Senpai was an elementary school student. In a few weeks, he would be in preparation to attend neighborhood middle school that was conveniently a few blocks from his home. He had imagined that his transition into adolescence was going to be spent at home or hanging out with the few friends he had. But instead, he was fighting the menacing cold with his father, collecting fees for his job for NHK.

Almost every other weekend, that was where Senpai could be located. Scouring the neighborhood with his father. His father took pride in his job as a fee collector, along with the many other menial jobs he had. The pay was low and can be compared to the salary of a office worker with a middle school education. It did not matter to his father. He would treat it like he was CEO of a Fortune 500 company. The only thing that no one could take from his father was his pride.

What he did not enjoy was that his classmates could see him. Honestly, where he came from, the classmates were not in the position to question anything that was 'subpar.' Senpai knew he was lower class. Where he lived was just a corrugated shack along with other corrugated shacks. Just used tin, re-lumbered wood, and other materials that others bought or found and they made it home. But his classmates found ways to humiliate him or others.

 _Why did I catch you with your dad collecting fees? Aren't you such a petty thief._

 _My mother saw you collecting fees next door to our neighbor. Are you that desperate for cash?_

 _My dad was pissed when you took his last bit of money for fees. Who do you think you are for taking the food out of our mouths?_

 _We should kick your ass for coming around like you are some fucking religious nut._

No matter the verbal abuse, the physical abuse, Senpai always took it in stride. Amidst it all, that was all he could do. Never once had he raised his voice in rebellion of their weekend ritual. He questioned it, but never had the guts to answer. He believed that it was the seriousness of his father's pride that hinder him. It made him wonder was the feeling of exposing his truth to his father was the same pride that he, himself, was feeling.

He hid himself in the hood of his coat as his father went to the last house. He stood beside the gate of the western-style home. His father walked to the door. He rang once. It was not long until a middle aged woman came to greet him at the door. It was not cold greeting, but it was not warm either. He nodded his head and notion her of her monthly fee. The lady had the door ajar before returning to give his father the money. From his angle, they had a brief conversation. She pointed her finger at Senpai, which made him blushed and turned around from her view. Not too long, his father returned to the gate.

"That is it," said his father simply. He wrapped the money into his coat pocket.

It was the end of the route, and all of the fees were collected. Following the route. he and his father stopped by a local ramen joint for a warm meal. After spending a greater part of the day, his face and his stomach needed it.

The joint was nothing more than a stand that was covered in tarp. The tarp was strong and durable; able to withstand any weather, including tsunamis. At least that was what the owner had told him and his father. The size was no bigger than a standard closet; with room for a small bar and four seats. Being how could it was, no one was going to be there. Senpai was right. For it was him, his father, and the owner of the ramen joint.

The owner, who Senpai nicknamed Akakuro because of his darkish copper-colored skin, silently welcomed his usual customers with a cold glass of beer and a glass of milk. Senpai watched as Akakuro poured beer into his father's glass. Senpai took the glass of milk and chugged like it was no tomorrow. Honestly, he never cared for milk. But never once he questioned Akakuro. He gave him the same respect that he gave his father. Akakuro and his father were drinking buddies back in their high school days. Back when it was cool to be rebellious. It was an era in which delinquents, known, as yankees ran the town. His father was a part of that subculture. Senpai tried to imagine what his father was like and what made his father changed into the being he was.

"My dearest comrade," said Akakuro while filling his father another cup of beer. "Tell me what is on the news today?"

"Another day, another dollar," His father said simply. "Making ends meet for me and the boy."

He sighed as he took his swig of beer. He chased it quickly like Senpai did with his milk.

"No doubt you will make a name eventually," said Akakuro. He went back into the kitchen to look for a pot to cook. "What will you have today, my comrade?"

"Give me the fried ramen with kimchi," said his father. He faced Senpai. "Give the boy the same."

His father made up Senpai's mind for him without any debate. Senpai looked into his eyes and silently nodded in approval.

"Fried ramen with kimchi," questioned Akakuro while laughing as he turned on the stove. "Catching Korean fever, I see." He reached into the cabinet above and gather its ingredients.

"Manchuria. Enough said," said his father. "Give in, give out. They took ours. We take theirs."

"Good thing for you is that I had a lad who gave me some kimchi not too long ago," said Akakuro.

"Good, now spread it so I can eat and I can get me and the boy out of here, you bastard," said his father.

"Right away, you son of a bitch," said Akakuro with a smile. Senpai laughed how his smile reminded him of a checker board. Some teeth are missing and some were blackened. He gave another slight chuckle as he awaited his meal.

While the owner was cooking away, he watched his father stare into the glass of his Red Stripe. His father's hands were resting on his chin. It looked like that he was staring into the abyss. It was like what was he expecting from the carbonated liquid yeast.

"Son," said his father breaking the silence. "Depthness."

"Depthness," replied Senpai with curiosity.

His father pushed the glass into his direction. "Stare into the beer and tell me what you see."

"Okay," replied Senpai. Senpai looked into the glass with the anticipation of finding something. He just see the carbonation going in many directions. The sounds of its gases fizzing on the outside. "I don't notice nothing, father."

"Exactly. I expect that from a child like you to not to understand its meaning," said his father. "When I was your age, my father did the same thing to me when I was at a similar place like this."

Senpai remained quiet.

"My father used to work as a rice farmer. Up and at it from three in the morning until ten in the evening," said his father. "My father walked fifteen miles a day to go to his job and work in the fields. Blisters on his feet, roughness on his skin, and always exhausted down to the bitter bone."

"You have told me about my grandfather," said Senpai. "About being a hardworker and being an earnest man."

"I wouldn't give him too much credit," said his father. "Mean as a snake, bitter as vinegar, and surly like a sinner, if he believed in a god. Despite being a miserable bastard, that old man could work. I mean work. Not the new age paper pushin' work like office work. I mean, tooth and nail, grit in your tooth kind of work."

"Talking about your old man again, comrade," asked Akakuro.

"Hey, you bastard. Aren't you supposed to cook my food," said his father before spitting on the ground. "I am having a private moment with my son."

"My ass," replied Akakuro. "A private moment in my shop amongst the public, you son of a bitch. Now let me cook your food and watch your tongue before I inflict another, yet familiar taste in your food."

"Always the typical bastard, you war mongler," said his father with a smile before returning to face Senpai. "Anyway this son of a bastard come home every night and drink until I find him passed out on the floor. Do you know what he had always told me every time before I leave for school?"

"What," asked Senpai.

"'Fetch me another can of beer.'" said his father. "Amazing on how my mother had dealt with him. Thirty five years of marriage before he had hit the dirt." He paused for a moment. "After the funeral, I asked your grandmother and how she beared with the miserable prick. You know what she told me?" He looked away, then return. "He provided. His work put food on the table. His work provided me with an education. So at our expense, he had the right to be who he was: a miserable old prick."

His father gave a slight smile. It was very surprising to Senpai. "You are lucky that you are given a free education. Back in my day, we have to work for it. At least that was what my dad did. I remembered after one day at work, he took me to a ramen joint and pulled the same thing I am doing to him now. I said the same thing he did and I have told you the same thing he told me." He took the glass of beer and took a sip. "How deep will you go to provide?"

"How deep," retorted Senpai.

"Depthness is an anomaly. It is how one can portray it. Hell, I ain't no intellect, but I want you to understand on how deep I go for you when I do my work." He took another sip of his beer. "I show you what I do because I want you to know what I do is not easy. These jobs are backbreaking work."

Senpai remained quiet.

"I can be hard on you. I know, but it is for a reason," said his father. "Depthness is a widely used word. It can be good or bad, depends on how you use it. Do I make you do these things to make your suffer or embarrass you in front of your friends? Or, I make you do these things to show on how I can make you become a man?"

"Father, you know I don't think that," said Senpai.

"Your eyes tell it all, boy," said his father when getting his next flow of beer. "Deep into his eyes tells the truth and I know you have embarrassment on what I do. It's not fancy. It is not the best, but I do what I have to do to survive."

"Father," said Senpai.

"Learn from your old man that I did not get from my old man," said his father. "Depthness can be an abyss of suffering; or depthness can be your stance to look high into what you want."

He handed the beer to Senpai. "You can take this beer and swallow your sadness," said his father before taking it back. "Or you can let the beer fizz and let it keep going until it's no more. What do you choose?"

"Father, I quite don't get your logic," said Senpai.

"I know," said his father. "That is why I am not a genius. Depthness is in the eye of what you think it is. How deep or how high can you go. That is why I am no intellect." He held his glass of liquid gold in the air and chased it away. The glass pounded loudly on the table as he asked Akakuro for another bottle.

It was a quarter after five in the evening when Senpai arrived at a home. It was a typical western-style home in a suburban neighborhood. The features of the home looked similar to the homes around it. It had a single driveway with a carport. It had a small garden. It was two-story. It had a cobblestone passageway that led to the entrance.

The woman parked in the driveway. She opened the door for Senpai and swayed her hand to follow her inside. The woman walked to the entranceway of the home. Instead of the usual of buzzing the intercom, she knocked a few times on the brick wall. After a couple of moments, she heard a hollow spot and pulled the false plaster from the wall. Inside of the false hole contained a key. She used the key to open the door into the home.

She held the door for Senpai to enter. At the entryway, he pulled off his shoes. Obviously, there were not any available slippers or indoor footwear to use, so he had to walk with his socks.

The woman closed the door and told Senpai to follow her. She lead him to the living room of the residence. It was dark and he was unable to see. The woman found a light switch. When the light turned on, the living room was very standard. It had two low-ended couches and a kotatsu. He was instructed to sit at the kotatsu.

He sat at the kotatsu. Although tensed, he kept calm because he knew that he was no position to call any shots.

"Excuse me," asked Senpai. "How soon will I meet the journalist."

The woman placed her finger to her lip, citing silence to Senpai. He did as he was told. For a few minutes, she went into the another room. When she returned, she had a tray that contain a pot and three small glasses. She gently placed it on the kotatsu before having a seat across from Senpai.

Senpai watched in silence as the woman carefully poured tea into each of the glasses. As he was profiling her, she was very average looking. Her nose was pointy. Her face was indented, in a way, concave. Her eyes were brown. Her teeth were very white. Her hair was short and had a boyish cut. If it was not for her curvy figure, and wearing a dress, she could have been easily mistaken for a boy.

Her outfit concealed her breast and her butt. It was oversized. He wondered on why would she wear an oversized dress. Was she insure, he thought. Did she not want to be objectified, he also thought. Whatever was the case, her silence explained that he was not going to get an answer from her. It was easy when talking with Pancho. However with this woman, he could not even get her to utter her name when they were in the car.

The woman placed the cup neatly in front of Senpai. From its scent, he knew that it was milk tea. He nodded in thanks as he took the cup and drank it. It was very tasty, he thought. The woman herself took the cup, in both hands, and drank from it. After taking another cup, he realized that the third cup had to be for the journalist.

"Excuse me," he said once again. "How soon will I meet the journalist."

She frowned. He did not like that. Her expression just made her look uglier, he thought. He nodded to her in an apology. Her face relaxed, returning to her usual demeanor.

 _I just have to keep my mouth shut until the journalist comes_ , he told himself.

The clock on the wall displayed itself as six o'clock on the dot. He heard the sound of the door open from the entrance. He heard the sound of single footsteps. As the stranger approached the living room, Senpai was relieved when he saw the it was the journalist.

"Glad to see that you are here," said the journalist smiling and giving him a wink. He then faced the direction of the woman. "Oh, Mikoto, I can see that you are here. Thank you for watching the boy. I humbly apologize on my tardiness."

"Oh no, sir," said the woman. "The pleasure is all mine. The boy is quite interesting. It is a service of being under your duties, sir." She stood up. "If you excuse me, I have other duties to attend to."

"Please, we are not in any danger at this time," said the journalist. "Sit with us and enjoy the tea that you made."

She shook her head in disagreement. "No, sir. For the moment we are laxed, the moment danger can occur. It will be best to take care of my duties, if you please."

"No problem, Mikoto," said the journalist. "Once again, thanks for watching the boy."

She nodded her head to the journalist and then Senpai before departing from the living room.

The journalist took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the alcove. He then walked to the living room and sat at the kotatsu across from Senpai.

"Mikoto is quite a doll, isn't she," asked the journalist as he winked again at Senpai.

"She is very quiet," said Senpai. That was the only compliment he could the strange woman.

"That is her nature, my boy," said the journalist. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a carton of Hi-Lites. He took the match and lit the cigarette. He took a puff before exhaling it into the air. "That is why I have hired her. Silent is best in this kind of work."

"What does she do," asked Senpai.

"Mikoto is a jack-of-all-trades," said the journalist boastfully. "She is very useful. Especially when I need her to get out of a tight spot." He took another drag of his cigarette. 'However her main job is being a bodyguard."

"A bodyguard?"

"A bodyguard."

"How come?"

"In this line of work, you have to be careful. Although I tend to keep it simple. I try my hardest to stay in my lane. However, it is nice to have insurance when the heat occurs. It is better to be safe than sorry." He gave a chuckle while taking another puff of his cigarette.

"So," asked Senpai. "Am I in any kind of danger."

"No, my boy," said the journalist. "For as long you keep your routine and play it safe, then everything is going to be fine." He looked at the clock and then his watch. "Listen, are you hungry?"

Honestly, Senpai was hungry, but at the same time, he was a bit worried to eat. "Yeah, I can get something to eat."

"Excellent," said the journalist. "I know this French restaurant that is superb for their beef bourguignon."

"Sure," said Senpai, "Whatever you order, I will eat."

"So, you are simple to please," asked the journalist as he called for Mikoto to return to the living room.

"That is how I am build, I guess," replied Senpai.

About an hour later, Mikoto returned with take-out from the French restaurant. All of them have the same order of beef bourguignon. The journalist had his with a glass of wine, Mikoto had it with a glass of tea, and Senpai had with a can of soda. Senpai was not a fan of French food, but the food he had eaten, he just had to make an exception.

After dinner and Mikoto return to her post, Senpai and the journalist returned to the living room.

The journalist reached into his briefcase and pulled a thick file folder. He placed it on the kotatsu.

"What is this," asked Senpai with curiosity.

"The reason why I needed to talk with someone like you," said the journalist. "This file folder contains much information I have obtained from your school."

"Really," said Senpai. "What is so important about my school that made me come all of this way to discuss?"

"To be simple about this, boy," said the journalist quietly. "Remember when I told you that there was something in the water at that school?"

"Yeah," said Senpai.

"There is something big that your school is trying to cover and I am going to figure why are they covering it up," said the journalist. He opened a file folder and pulled a photo from it. He looked at the photo for a second, giving himself a thought before sliding it to Senpai.

"What's this," asked Senpai as he looked at the picture. "Who is this?"

"You don't know," questioned the journalist. "She attended your school."

Senpai put his finger to his lip, trying his hardest to think on where he had seen the girl. Of course, she was wearing their high school uniform. Her skin was pale and her hair was short bobbed and brown. She looked emotionless, as if the world delivered a great woe to the world. He had to recognize her, but it was to no avail.

"I know that she is a student, but I have no thoughts of who she is," said Senpai honestly.

"She _was_ a student," said the journalist with a strong tone on the word was. The way he said it gave a hint of worry coming from Senpai's mouth.

"She was, what do you mean," questioned Senpai. 'Are you telling me that she is…"

"Dead," said the journalist while completing his sentence. "She was student at your school. She passed away a few weeks ago."

"Oh my God," said Senpai while covering his mouth. "I did not know. I did not have a clue. Was it an accident?"

"I am afraid not," said the journalist. He pulled another cigarette from the carton and took a few puffs. He then called for Mikoto to make him a glass of scotch. He asked Senpai did he want to drink, but he politely declined. "You see, my boy, she was murdered."

"Murdered," said Senpai. "How did she get killed?"

"She was killed at school," said the journalist bluntly. "In the girl's bathroom."

Senpai's eyes widened. A girl was killed on his campus. That was news to him, something that would have been spread throughout school. Senpai knew whenever there was a death of a student, the headmaster would notify the school through the intercom. There would be a moment of silence followed by a brief prayer. At the end of the day, flowers were placed at the lockers or the desk of the deceased. However, none of that have happened. Since attending the school, he has kept a good attendance record. If a death have occurred at school, he would have known.

"How come we did not get word," asked Senpai.

"You see," said the journalist. "If word got out that a student was murdered on school grounds, then fear would spread like wildfire. Your school is well known throughout this entire country. You are home to the elite for tomorrow's leaders. The headmaster would be damned to have a murdered child tarnished their reputation."

Senpai was beginning to feel lightheaded. "Oh my God. Are you sure that this is true?"

The journalist pulled out another picture. Senpai's eyes widened and gasped at the revelation of this picture. "Recognize this place," asked the journalist. "This picture is the bathroom at your school. This is the crime scene of where this went down. Relax, I am not going to show you the gory details. However, I want you to understand on how serious I am being."

He took another smoke and sat up against the couch. "We are going to call her the Phantom Girl. The Phantom Girl was found dead in the bathroom by one of the teachers when she was reported missing from class. Although she had history of missing classes, this class in particular she had hardly miss."

"What class is that, may I ask," questioned Senpai.

"Biology," said the journalist. "It seems that Phantom Girl enjoyed Biology because in some way or form, it had reminded her of the occult. You know, mind, body, and spirit, or some other shit. The point is, when she was not in class, the teacher decided to go look for her. That's what was she found her." He pulled another picture for himself, but did not show Senpai. "Poor girl. It looks as like someone wanted to do a bit of biology of her own."

"How was she killed," asked Senpai.

"She was stabbed several times. In her chest, her stomach, her back, her neck, and some other places. Whoever did this to this poor child wanted her dead," said the journalist.

"Were the police involved," asked Senpai. "The police should have been there to investigate it. It would have been on the news."

"Oh, they were there," said the journalist. "But not for long." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Your school really gives a damn about something like that to tarnish their reputation. They did not want any police or journalists snooping around their school. Don't have a clue on how they did it, but they gave us only six hours to check out the scene before shutting us out."

"How were you able to get the stuff that you need," asked Senpai.

"That is something that is none of your concern," said the journalist.

"Then what the hell," retorted Senpai. "If it is none of my concern, then why am I involved in this?"

The journalist gave a sigh. He then reached into the briefcase and gave Senpai a small plastic bag. Inside of the bag contained a small picture of him.

"This is what I got from a detective. It was on her person," said the journalist.

"Why does she have a picture of me," asked Senpai.

"That is what I am trying to figure out," said the journalist. "You see, it was no accident that I have ran into you. I was waiting for the right opportunity to catch you. That is why I need you. I believe that the murder of Phantom Girl might have something to do with you."

"Me," said Senpai. "I don't even know the girl." He took another gasp. "Are you saying that I have killed her?" He stood up in disbelief. He was taken aback and his mouth was running dry.

"No, no," said the journalist. "That is not what I am implying. I know you didn't kill her."

"Then what are you trying to say," asked Senpai. His hands were trembling. He was becoming worried.

"First, you need to calm down," said the journalist in a relaxed tone. "Panicking is not the way at this point in time." He took a breath. "I need your help."

The journalist notion him to return to his seat at the kotatsu. After a moment of hesitation, he returned to his seat. "What do you want from me," asked Senpai.

"Your cooperation," answered the journalist. "All I want you to do is to continue to go to school. Keep your routine like nothing has happened."

"That's all," asked Senpai.

"That's all," replied the journalist.

A moment later, Mikoto was called to the living room in preparation to take Senpai home. As Senpai was beginning to leave, he asked a question to the journalist.

"What do my classmates think what happened to Phantom Girl," he asked.

"Like your typical Japanese children who have migrant parents. She had _transferred_ ," said the journalist. "We will be in touch."

Mikoto placed her hand on Senpai's shoulder, telling him that his time with the journalist was finished. Senpai sighed as he put on his shoes and walked back onto the outside world.

As she was driving him back to the train station, his thoughts were on his father at the ramen joint.

"Depthness," he said to himself. "Depthness can be an abyss of suffering; or depthness can be your stance to look high into what you want." He faced the window as he watched the sky turned into darkness. "Which direction am I heading into?"

* * *

"Watching you sleep is always fun, but its gets a bit old after six hours you know," said the grey-haired woman.

Senpai's desire for water was apparent, but was going unnoticed by the grey-haired woman. She continued to watch Senpai like an observer does to an specimen. He knew that any moment, he could go once again into unconsciousness. He feared if he blacked out, then he would not return. His mouth was dry. He was nauseated. He was stuck in the confinements of an unknown place in an unknown room with a woman that served as his captor.

The grey-haired woman walked toward the delirious Senpai and gently cupped her hand around his rugged chin. The soft, but sweaty palm was a cold shock to him, but it made him alert.

"Please, oh God," he said while struggling. "Water, I beg of you. Please, I need something. Anything, I beg of you."

He was in anguish. As much he wanted to shed tears, he was unable to. Like his throat, his tear ducts are dry as well.

The grey-haired girl gave a slight chuckle before releasing her hand from his chin. Senpai concluded that this woman enjoyed seeing him being torn down.

"What's happening," he asked himself for the second time. "Where am I?"

"We're in my basement, darling," she said with excitement. "My mom went through a lot of trouble to get this basement added to our home!"

"What are you talking about?" He was still in dazed. He tried to reach for something until he felt something restricting his hands. He realized that he was bound. "What is this," he screamed. "Am I tied to a chair?"


	5. Shadow

He put his key into the hole and gently opened the door. He closed it gently once more without disturbing his father. He left his shoes at the entrance, beside his father's, and put on his slippers. Before leaving the area, he examined his shoes with his father's. The overworn black Stacy Adams have been one of two shoes that his father owned. Those shoes can better its history by the creases and heavy indentures. Senpai honestly thought that those were the only shoes he had seen his father wear. He knew there was one reason for it, but he decided to further elaborate on the subject.

Darkness enveloped the quaint, small home with the exception of a flashing light emitting different spectrums of colors. It was coming from the living room. He walked by and saw his father lying on the couch. He looked like a small child that was awaiting his parents to return. However, it was the couch that his father now called his bedroom. Sleeping there became the norm for Senpai. His father's bedroom became more of a storage area as he grew older. He walked inside and sat next to his father.

His father looked peaceful while lying on his back. Senpai noticed that his father was still in his clothes. He knew that he was waiting for his return. It was quite unusual for Senpai to be out, especially at this time of night. He hoped that he did not worry his father. There was so much that an old man can take, his father thought.

He took his mind off of his father for a second and look at the flashing lights that were being emitted from the television. The channel was on the television station, NHK. Senpai jokingly and later chagrined to watch a channel that included his father as a staff and at the expense of Senpai's embarrassment.

He tuned in and watch the reporter give her segment on the news of the world. 1989 was considered a turning point in many ways. First, it began with the end of the Showa era after the death of Hirohito and the emerging of the Heisei era with the enthronement of Akihito. George H.W. Bush became the president of the United States. The Cold War was at its last candle before going to a loud, but silent end. Japan was finally getting in touch with the world wide web. The _Exxon Valdez_ made its news with the huge abundance of oil spilling into the sea. The Tiananmen Square protest in China was in its infancy. Senpai looked at the calendar, next to the alcove, with the month of May. He sat back and realized that so much was going on in the world and the year was yet to be finished.

The reporter switched from world news to the local news. In the neighboring prefecture, a student was killed after his girlfriend had stabbed him multiple times with a pen. Feeling remorse, she committed suicide afterwards. They did not say her name or the victim, but both were 15 years old.

So young, Senpai had thought. Then the thought of the Phantom Girl returned to his mind. The girl, herself, was only 16 years old when she died. She was stabbed to death as well. Unsure on what weapon was used on Phantom Girl, but Senpai did not want to know. Honestly, he did not want get involved any further. As he was arriving home, his mind wandered on how he ended up in this particular juncture.

He wondered was it fate that allowed the journalist contact with him. He wanted answers. Why did the Phantom Girl have his picture? How does she and him relate? He did not even know that she was a student until the journalist revealed it to him. No matter how questioned himself or pester with different scenarios, the fact was facts. He was now involved and must cooperate with the journalist at his bidding.

He looked at his father and showed a self-deprecating smile. "You are right old man. I can be a bit too trusting. Just like my mother." He left and later returned with a blanket to cover his father. He had kissed his father on the forehead before turning off the television.

"Enough of the world's chaos for the day," he said to himself before departing into his room.

He stepped inside of his room. The second stage act of darkness enveloped inside of his small bedroom. With the exception of the streetlamp outside of his window seeped through his blinds, displaying any silhouettes that were not able to show its other side in the day, it was still dark enough to engulf his appearance.

He took off his shirt and sat quietly on his bed. He had reached into his pants to take them off before feeling something foreign in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was a picture of the Phantom Girl. He had raised his eyebrow in revelation that he had forgot to return it to the journalist before leaving.

Wanting some light, he reach for his lamp to turn on the lights. He had studied the picture; analyzing every detail about the former student. Her pale face had soft features that reminded him of milk. Her nose was pointy, but it had suited her very well. Her hair reminded him of the wheat fields during his travels with his father to his work. What captivated Senpai the most were her eyes. Her eyes show depthness. It had looked that her eyes can further tell her life story than the girl herself. He had studied her eyes for quite some time. Her pupils were very catlike. Like it was a type of feline that was not very welcoming. It was kind of look that she was protecting herself from others. However, it was very bedeviling to those who became entranced by her catlike eyes.

The more he looked, the more bewitching the Phantom Girl became. _She was not a bad looking girl_ , he thought. _Eccentric and atypical will be my words to describe this type of girl_. She was not an ugly girl, he concluded. In fact, she was, in a way, attractive.

He swallowed nothing. There was nothing but to lament the loss of this mysterious, ominous girl. He placed her picture in his notebook for safekeeping. He had promised himself that he would return the picture to the journalist on their next meeting. No matter how he looked at it, this was only the beginning of his journey into the mist.

The next day, Senpai was awoken by the alarm clock. He rubbed his eyes and walked to the alarm clock that proudly displayed its hands at the sixth hour of the day. He pressed the dial to turn it off. He then looked at the advertisement movie poster for the film, _Akira_. He sort of smiled. _What would Tetsuo might have done if he were in this particular mix_?

After his morning routines, he walked into the living room. He was welcomed by silence, the usual norm for him. By now, his father should be on his third hour of work.

When he approached the kitchen, the smell of leftover breakfast and coffee impacted his nostrils. He frowned when he saw that his father made his baked sardines, hard boiled eggs, and rice. However, his stomach was too hungry to care on how Senpai thought. He had sat down and was getting ready to eat. Next to the empty plate was a note. He had picked it up. It was from his father.

 _You came home late. We need to talk._

No formalities from his old man, he thought. He narrowed his eyebrows as he placed the note to the side. As he prepared to eat, someone was buzzing him at the door.

He walked to the front door and looked through the peephole. It was the journalist's bodyguard, Mikoto. He sighed briefly before opening the door. When he had opened the door, she walked herself in without even greeting Senpai. He had closed the door and watched her enter his home as if she was a resident.

After closing the door, he watched Mikoto making herself at home by pouring a cup of coffee. She sat at his seat and took a sip of his coffee.

"Good morning, Mikoto," answered Senpai, hoping to get a response out of her, but nothing. She looked at him for a moment before resuming her coffee.

"Is there anything you need of me this morning," asked Senpai, trying his best not to show his frustration of Mikoto's rudeness.

After taking another sip, she had finally spoke. "The journalist needs to speak with you. He is outside waiting for you in the car." Her voice was flat, no sincerity in it. It was like she was a robot, Senpai thought.

"I have no problem if he wanted to talk inside, if he wanted to," said Senpai.

The sound of the coffee cup made a loud impact on the table. Senpai watched Mikoto's eyes furrowed in aggravation. With her index finger, she instructed him to have a seat. When getting in contact with Mikoto, her expression remained the same-smug.

"I am going to tell you once and only once," said Mikoto while keeping her eyes on Senpai. "When dealing with me, there are some things that you will have to know. One, don't ever question me. Two, you will do as you are told. Three, when you talk with me, you will address me as Mikoto-san. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mikoto-san, I understand." Senpai didn't look at her. He did not want to further look at her smug face.

"Good," she said. "Glad that we can have an understanding." She took a sip of coffee before placing it on the table. "Get your stuff together. We are leaving in five minutes."

"Five minutes? But…" He stopped himself from going further. He bowed his head before walking out of the kitchen.

Five minutes later, he was in uniform and walking with Mikoto as they were leaving the house. He left with both an empty feeling of despair and hunger.

The clock proudly displayed its hands toward the midnight hour.

"A new day." He thought to himself in a tone that was nonchalant. It was the kind of expression that was similar to a person who had an oblique view on life. If there was nothing significant from the previous day, then how is today going to be different? He quietly sighed as his eyes lingered away from the clock to the ceiling where the fan was quietly revolving in its circle.

He watched it for a moment. Watching the four wings going over and over. He had blinked his eyes. He was trying to see was there anything significant about it. Is there one wing different from the other wing? Did one wing have a different purpose than the other? Was there more dust on one than the others? A multitude of questions ran through his mind. It had felt like a marathon. Regardless of that notion, he knew it was a marathon with no end. But why was he thinking this way? What kind of resolution was he trying to get from a revolving fan?

The fan was doing its purpose, he had explained in his mind. It's to keep him cool in the summer; it brings a white noise; and it also provides him with lighting. That was what his fan was supposed to do. He then looked at the clock. He had thought of the same thing. It tells time; it gets him where he needs to go; and it wakes him up at his appropriate time. That was what it was supposed to do.

To bring further input, he compared those objects to his life. He is a student who attends one of the most prestigious in the prefecture, let alone in Japan. He is smart and intelligent. He is a talented baseball player and a future prospect for many universities. He is kind and sincere. Although he is labeled as a commoner, he keeps in place amongst the school's elite. He wants to finish school, attend college where he can play baseball, and hopefully becomes a professional baseball player. He will meet a girl, get married, and have children. Those were things he felt that were his purpose. Or so he thought.

Deep within, Senpai believed that he already knew the answer, but just did not want to accept it. Because by accepting the answer, he is admitting that there is a change within. And that was something he could not grasp.

A splash of water coming from the bucket return Senpai to reality. The water covered his entire body. It had alleviate the tension that he was once feeling. He opened his dried eyes and welcomed what kind of bead he can enter into his mouth. He gasped and licked around his lips, seeking whatever liquid that he could obtained.

A light chuckle came from his captive. The bucket was still in her hand. The smile she displayed was something villainous. She placed it down before returning in front of him. She lingered in front of him. He was taken aback, but he couldn't moved. Then, he remembered that she had tied to the chair.

His voice was raspy and loud enough to alert any residents that someone was in the basement.

"The chair," he screamed. "Am I tied to a chair."

The girl walked away, leaving a scent of perspiration around Senpai. It hit his nostrils. For some reason, her sweat smelled sweet; like a moist flower.

She answered his question. "That's right, darling. That's the very same chair that my mother built for my father while she was keeping him here! And now you get to sit there, too! Isn't that romantic?"

Her statement made him think of the time when he was at home, sitting with his father, while watching the news. The boyfriend that was stabbed by his girlfriend was also found slumped in a chair before killing him. He, too, was tied up as well. The fear of that happening made him panicked. He began trembling and shaking the chair before hearing the word, stop, from her voice.

"Stop." It was cold, blunt, and absolute. The carefree attitude of hers quickly transcended into something of robust. That alone let Senpai know that he was dealing with a force.

When taking a second look of his captor, he had already knew what to expect. Her eyes never left his sight. It looked as though she was studying him.

"Aren't you that girl that who's been on the TV lately?" He asked his captor. "What was it. Aishi-san?"

"Oh, you don't need to be so formal, darling," she said. "You can use my first name, you know?"


	6. Rejoice

Senpai really loved baseball. His passion for art didn't come close to the tenacity of the sport. Baseball was important like breathing. He had often compared it to breathing when practicing with his fellow teammates. _We become labored when we are at the plate. We take sharp breaths when we face our opposition. We indrawn as much as we can before making our presence known with the opposition. Breathe in, breathe in. Don't allow anyone shallow your pressure. Baseball is all about concentration like chess. Breathe out, breathe out and make your next move. Then, score!_ Admittedly, he was not the author of that advice, he had learned it from Akakuro one afternoon while work working at his ramen joint.

His boss and best friend of his father used to be in the minor leagues during his four year stint in America. He played for the leagues that had connections with the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees. However, due to an leg injury, he had to return back to his native Japan. The closer he had to the big leagues was when the Lotte Orion's Leron Lee came to his establishment looking for a telephone. Akakuro told Senpai that it was through Leron that he was able to garner that advice.

Senpai's coach knew how dedicated he was to baseball. And to further him in his God-given craft, his coach gave him a notebook after their record-playing, no-hitter game against a rival school.

Senpai studied the baseball playbook like it was a relic. Better yet, he sacred it as a religious text. Whenever he had available time, he would reach into his backpack to retrieve the item. It was a playbook that was passed from ace to ace over the last several years since baseball was inducted into Akademi High. With delicacy, he watched over the plays. He saw how previous aces left scribbles or sticky notes to add suggestions or to improve their craft. It has only been a few weeks since the beginning of baseball season and he was feeling the itch to win.

He sat outside of his coach's office. His last class ended early, leaving him with time to kill. What better than to spend a few minutes looking over plays for the upcoming game with one of their rivals from the neighboring prefecture. The playbook was a worthy guide, but he also took _Sports Illustrated_ magazine as additional material. The August 1981 issue, that his father collected, displayed a team that was deemed unstoppable in its era at the time.

The _Sports Illustrated_ article captioned, "The Amazing A's and Their Five Aces," described the starting rotation of American baseball team, the Oakland Athletics. The Athletics finished the season with an overall record of 64-45, the best record in the American League. With their coach, Billy Martin representing them, they were recognizable in the league until their defeat by the New York Yankees in the 1981 American League Championship Series. Although they had lived in infamy until the 1982 slump, what Senpai admired was how five starting lineup continued despite the odds being against them.

He studied baseball players like Babe Ruth, Jackie Robinson, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Hank Aaron; and even Japanese baseball players from the 1983 Saitama Seibu Lions. Senpai wanted to get an edge for whatever maneuver he had to prepare. Despite not all of them being pitchers, he wanted to get in any position ready. Some days after school, he practiced in positions such as outfielder, shortstop, baseman, catcher, and the like. _Get an edge, my friend. Get an edge._

 _Study, study, study_ was Senpai's current philosophy. He researched as much as he could on their pros, their cons, their strengths, and their weaknesses from the players and their plays, respectively. Coach had told him that scouts were returning to check on him. They had thought he had performed well during winter training, but it has been a few months since then. Anybody fresh could play, but when they are under pressure is the biggest challenge. Those words from his coach were embedding and he made sure he kept them within until he was certain that he was going to receive a baseball scholarship.

He used to tell his father that someday he would like to play baseball in America. He had three teams in mind. Oakland Athletics because he wanted to be the star ace to return them to their former glory. The New York Yankees because for one, he always wanted to visit New York; and two, the thought of walking the line of the infamous Babe Ruth. The last, but not least team, The Seattle Mariners. However, the latter of which was more personal.

Iwakuma was his mother's maiden name. He was fourteen years old when he had received that information from his father in a drunken stupor that fateful evening. It was a fateful evening because it was the anniversary of when his mother exited out of their life. Every year on the day of her departure, his father spent hours at the neighborhood bar. He consumed himself in liquor until he even himself with his water composition. When returning home, he smelled like a brewery. By then, the young Senpai knew the routine of running a hot bath for his father; brewing oolong tea with a hint of peppermint and lemon; and preparing his bed before his father crashed. Senpai always left his father's door cracked. He wanted assurance that he would have a father whenever he returned home from school. That day was different, instead of the routine, his father crashed on the couch. He stammered and coughed loudly. He kept hitting himself with his head repeatedly. He belittled himself, calling himself a "fool," "coward," "bastard," and "inconceivable son of a bitch." He criticized his father for wishing him misfortune in life. He criticized his mother for marrying his father. Then, Senpai watched as he cursed the woman that gave Senpai life.

 _Curse you, you mongol wench! Curse you and everything about you! Curse the name of you and the name of your family. Curse the day I have met you or anybody under the name of Iwakuma._

He continued rambling until he silently cried himself to sleep.

Senpai hated whenever he saw his father in that position. He hated it the most that his father was endangering himself on the over consumption of alcohol. That was why he need to search for the woman that gave him life. The woman who could bring him closure, who can bring his father closure.

Senpai could vaguely remember his mother. He was very young when she departed from his life. If he think hard enough, he imagined standing in the room with empty drawers. Empty hangers where clothes used to be. He tried picturing his mother with her suitcases. What was she wearing? What was she thinking? What made her think the better option was to leave Senpai in the hands of his father? He was saying that his father was a bad person, but he wanted answers. How could a woman like that make him do the things that he was doing.

He wanted to be mad at his mother. He wanted to hate his mother. His father didn't mind. In fact, he encouraged it. However, he did not have the heart to hate her. He couldn't hate anyone. His father told him that he gets that from his mother. And if that is the case, then Senpai wanted to know.

He prayed every day that he was signing with a major league team can make a difference in his search. He went to the library to the periodicals. He was searching for the name of Iwakuma. He looked through the registry that city hall kept their archives. He ventured through the old yearbooks from the local high schools. He even took the chance of seeing that maybe his mother was a former Akademi student. The search ended in nothing. He thought that she may have came from another prefecture. It wasn't common for spouses to leave their family home and move to another place. But by that time, baseball and academics were consuming him, delaying the search.

One day in history class, his teacher was explaining Japanese emigration and looking for new life. By that time, it was common for students to leave Japan with their families and go to another country. Most of the time it was for a job, but other times to look for a new way of life. His teacher was talking about how most Japanese expatriates move to America. Many of them call San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, and Los Angeles home.

 _Seattle_ did not leave his mind. It was ingrained in him and he wanted to learn more about that place. Through magazines and newspaper, he had learned that Seattle has a very large Japanese population. Especially in a region called Rainier Beach. He imagined when he joined the Seattle Mariners, he would purchase a home there. If that happened, would he come across his mother. Many things came in his mind. _Would she recognize me? Would she know who I am if she watched baseball? What would she say? What can she say?_ Be as it were, he knew for certain that he wanted answers. Didn't care on why she left his father or him. He just wanted answers and overall, a face.

"You know, Senpai-kun. If you think too hard with your face tighten up, you might stay that way." The voice sounded feminine, but deep. There was a hint of maturity in her voice. A person in transition of abandoning her childhood and blossoming into an adult.

Senpai evacuated his thoughts. He closed his notebook and placed it on the chair beside him. He looked up and a smile spread from his face.

"If I look like you, then my face will tighten up," he said with a response. He was returned with a hit on his shoulder. It brought a slight stain, but he overlooked it.

The fair-skinned girl sat beside Senpai. She folded her arms and kicked the floor with her feet. The hallway outside of the coach's office was dimmed, but it was light enough to see her in full view. Her brown hair hung down to her back. It was bouncy and had a strong sheen to it, knowing that she had taken strong consideration in her appearance. Her skin was like porcelain. She didn't need any makeup. Her strongest features were her green eyes and her dimples. Her eyes reminded Senpai of deep swimming pools. He was entranced every time when looking at those deep waters. Her dimples made him blush. He was unsure, but it did. It didn't go unnoticed from his beautiful classmate.

"I can tell I am hypnotizing you with my eyes again," she said while elbowing his shoulder.

"That's obviously a lie," retorted Senpai. "Why would I fall for such a person who can be such an idiot?"

She grabbed his nose. "Pinocchio is showing his true colors," she said teasingly.

"You know what," he said with defeat. "You win. Happy?"

She giggled. "My pleasure, Senpai-kun."

Admittedly, Senpai's hair from his neck stand whenever she put a strong tone on his name. It was like a whispering prayer, gently waving in the wind with the intent of cooing and humbling a person. He was unsure of using those kind of metaphors to describe his classmate and friend, but that was the best he could do. She was also helping him with his poetry.

The green-eyed beauty was named Sakura Nagano. She and Senpai met when she became the baseball team's equipment manager. The coach told the team that he had chosen Sakura because her versatility in baseball and organizing could be of importance. According to coach, her father used to play for Akademi High. But, most of the team knew on why he had hired Sakura. Sakura was very mature, in spirit and in body. And at sixteen years old, Sakura had a full figure that would easily mistaken her for a woman in her early twenties.

She was nicknamed the _Shaolin no Hana_ of Akademi High. It was not just because of Chinese and Japanese heritage, but because she was a hidden beauty. She was the flower on the rock that couldn't be reached. Sakura had an aura that either intimidated or desired her. She had a following with both male and female classmates.

Sakura and Senpai became further acquainted after one afternoon they were both locked in the equipment shed. She needed help carrying a basket of dirty towels. The only reason she asked him of his assistance was because he was the only one. Regardless, something happened that made them trapped in the shed for several hours. Through that time, both spent time furthering their acquaintanceship and they have been friends since.

He had faced debacles because of his interaction with Sakura. Sakura came a prominent family. Her father worked as a computer analyst for Aeon. Her mother worked as a businesswoman for Toyota, which was rare for a woman to work in a position aside from being an office worker. The Nagano name was known through those in the elite. Seeing a prominent beauty with a commoner made Senpai once again a target of bullying.

And every time he had faced opposition, Sakura was there to have his back. Their friendship grew as they spent some weekends together. She was a closeted nerd, desiring the simple life than to go to tea ceremonies with people she dearly didn't care about. She was the girl who enjoyed junk food and playing video games. Her favorite manga at the time was _Maison Ikkoku_ and _Oh, My Goddesses!_ She loved listening to pop music and American R&B than the classical music she had the displeasure to listen when she was with her family or other club members.

What established a deeper connection with Senpai and Sakura was their love for art. Although they were in different classes and a year apart, they had an opportunity to share an art class. Both were a fan of Thomas Kinkade and they mimicked his art in his likeness. Sakura told Senpai that she vied for the beatnik lifestyle; mentioning that she would like to leave to Japan and live in Greenwich in New York. When she concluded that, she asked every time that she wanted him to go with her. He always smiled before resuming their painting.

Sakura pulled a drink out of her backpack. "Sorry, I was unsure if you wanted milk tea or Thai tea." Senpai shook his head. "It didn't matter for as long it is drinkable," he answered. Sakura gave him the milk tea. "Man, this is what I needed," replied Senpai as he quickly consumed his drink.

"Whoa," surprised Sakura. "You were really thirsty." She politely handled her straw to insert before consuming her Thai Tea. There were some elements of her etiquette training. "Remind me to get you two instead of one."

He chuckled. "Sorry, just really, really thirsty."

"You are always really, really thirsty."

"Only when you bring drinks over is when I get that way." He wiped his milk tea mustache with his sleeve. "How did you even know I was here. We normally meet at the field."

"I had a hunch," she said. "Normally by the time I arrived, you are the first on the field. _Always!_ "

He laughed again while holding the back of his neck. "Can't help it. Want the best!"

"Either that or you want to show off your other team members," she said teasingly. "It isn't like we already know about a certain kid with a chance of getting a certain scholarship at a you-know-where university." She glared with a large smile.

He blushed. "Well, I am sorry that I want the best. It isn't like I am showing off. It's called practice." He scoffed. "Try it sometime. If my precious team, the fools, didn't spend so much chasing tail instead of chasing innings, then maybe we can be on top."

She giggled. "It doesn't hurt to chase _tail_. You are at a suitable age in which you should get a girlfriend."

"Even if I wanted to get a girlfriend, I don't have time," he said. "My main focus is to finish school and get this scholarship. I want to be able to go to college…."

"And take care of your father and to look for your mother," she said with interjection. "I know. You have talked about it a lot. Much, much a lot."

"Then you understand how I feel," he replied while giving her a wink.

Sakura sat back while drinking her Thai tea. As she lied back, Senpai could see her full figure. She was heavily busted. Very insecure with it, she always wore her uniform one size bigger to conceal it. Her legs were built. That was the best way to describe it. As if God himself sculpted her legs. They were delicate, but very creamy. He was guilty of thinking ill thoughts, but his intentions were good. Sakura was a beautiful woman. Any man would be lucky to have her, he had thought to himself.

"Listen," said Sakura. Senpai noticed the shifting in her tone of voice. "I have been worried about Yukiho."

"Your sister," he replied. "Is she okay?"

Sakura drew out a few breaths before taking another drink of her tea. She put the tea beside her before facing Senpai. "Yukiho has been very distant with me lately and it is worrying me."

Yukiho Nagano is the younger sister of Sakura. Although she was fourteen, she and her sister were in the same grade. Yukiho was the exact opposite of Sakura. Whereas Sakura was outgoing and confident, Yukiho was reserved, recluse, and timid.

"Yuki is fourteen," replied Senpai. "They are at an impressionable age. C'mon, we were at that awkward in we were trying to find ourselves."

"I know," she said quietly. "But this is more awkward because she hasn't been responding to any of us."

"Really," he questioned.

"She hardly comes out of her room. When she comes to school, she acts like a zombie. She is looking unkempt. I am afraid that something has happened to her or somebody is doing something to her."

Senpai took his hand and rubbed her hand. In return, both embraced the warm palms. "Yukiho is timid. I remember when we have met that she hid behind you. It can be hard for a former hikikomori to find herself again. It has been quite awhile since that day."

About two years ago, Yukiho was aboard a bus returning home from school when she was sexually harassed by a stranger. She didn't do anything, but allowed the stranger to do her will. The crime went unreported and she withdrew from society. It wasn't until a year and a half later when she told her parents and her sister about why she became a hikikomori. With the help of Sakura and Senpai, they helped Yukiho to return back to society. Everyday, Senpai came over and talked with her. He had read with her. He had watched television with her. He allowed her to do things at her own pace. It wasn't long until she started leaving her room and ventured into the living room. Sakura's parents had nothing but full gratitude for Senpai of taking care of their daughter.

"I doubt that. She is more outspoken," said Senpai.

"You're right, but this keeps us, then we are going to lose her again," she said with worriedness.

Senpai grabbed her hand tightly. "We won't. I promise you we won't." He let go of her hand before tapping his hands on his legs. "When did things started to change with her?"

"Well, you know that Yuki is part of the Occult Club," said Sakura.

Senpai shook his head in agreement. Everybody at the school knew about the oddities who had chosen the Occult Club as a domicile. A haven for the rejected and the downtrodden. It served as the home of many children who were disconnected from the world; who had chosen spirits for companionship than physical contact with others. Looking back, Yukiho had all of the requirements to join that kind of club. However, he was not going to tell Sakura that.

"Well, Yuki was able to have her first friend since being here," said Sakura.

"Okay," he said. "I am happy to know that. She deserves to have friendship."

She shook her head. "I agree. Yukiho used to talk about that girl all of the time. They used to spend every day after school talking about the occult. They shopped together, been to each other's houses. She even had dinner with us."

"How was that like," questioned Senpai.

"It was weird. Really weird, but seeing my sister smile made me happy," she said with a plastic smile. "And I want to see her continue with that lovely smile." She wiped her face. "Well, I have tried to ask her what was wrong, but she was not responding. Last night, I heard her crying. It lasted through the night." She looked at Senpai. "I don't want it again. I need to do something. Can you do something."

Senpai cared about Yukiho. He looked to her as a younger sister. He didn't have any siblings. He loved when Yukiho got comfortable enough with him, she politely called him _onii-chan_. From that point, he did not mind when Yukiho called him that. He always wanted to have a younger sister and doting Yukiho was nothing but pleasure for him.

He snapped his fingers. "This is what we can do. After school, I can come over to your house. Normally, she is home around that time. I can talk to her and hopefully she will answer me."

"Do you think it might work," she questioned him.

"Work before, hasn't it," he replied with a wink. Seeing that made her face relax. Her breathing return to a normal pace.

"Thanks," she said. "I am grateful for you. I am happy to be your friend."

"No worries," said Senpai. "If I am her _onii-chan_ , then you are my _onee-chan_."

"It doesn't count if you are older than me," she said.

"You carry that aura," he answered. "Consider that as a compliment."

After baseball practice, Senpai gathered his things and was heading home. He was barely a few yards from the school until he saw the blue, two-door Hyundai pulling alongside him.

When coming to a full stop, the door opened and there came Mikoto. She gave him the usual demeanor of duress. She rarely speaks, but her face was intimidating enough.

"Get in," she said with much sternness. She opened the backdoor from the driver's side. Not wanting to argue, he stepped inside of the vehicle.

The car returned to motion. It didn't take long to realize that he wasn't the only one in the vehicle. The lingering hazy smoke of a cigarette served as the introduction for the Journalist. He took a couple of puffs before discarding the cancer stick out of the window.

It kind of irritated Senpai on how he now dubbed them, the Dynamic duo, approached him unannounced. Although he was somewhat involved in the investigation, but he had a life to live, he thought. He had family, he had a childhood, and most of all, he had baseball.

"Were you tailed," questioned the Journalist.

Senpai sighed. "I wasn't. I didn't take the usual exit as you always tell me. I take different places each day so I won't give anybody a hint of doubt."

"Good lad," replied the Journalist as he patted Senpai on the shoulder. Senpai felt sort of insulted with that. It reminded him as if that was a master-servant relationship. However, he kept his opinion to himself.

"So, what's the news," he asked Senpai while reaching into his pocket for another cigarette.

Senpai sighed again, but it was more audible. It didn't go unnoticed when he saw Mikoto staring daggers at him. Even through her sunglasses, he knew that she was upset. Her eyes told him to never question the Journalist.

"I am going to visit Yukiho tomorrow after school," said Senpai. He turned to the Journalist. "What does Yukiho have to do with Phantom Girl?"

"Not a lot, but there is something that she possesses that can maybe serve as a key," said the Journalist. He looked at Senpai as he showed a face of disappointment. "Don't beat yourself up, kid. You are not hurting them. I know you care for them dearly. Consider this as an act of service to protect those from facing further harm."

"Then why does it hurt so much," questioned Senpai. "I had basically set up my best friend."

"Let me tell you something, lad," said the Journalist. "By doing this, you are saving lives. I told you that I need your help. I had also promised that no one is going to get hurt. You will be okay. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," replied Senpai. As much he wanted to protest, the Journalist knew how to downplay anything he said. So, it was best to not speak anymore.

Mikoto stopped in front of his house. There were no lights on. The house was in full darkness. _Father must be out drinking_ , he thought to himself.

"Go home and get some rest," said the Journalist while patting him on his shoulder. "Oh, I forgot to mention what you need to find."

 _Oh, now you tell me on the "key" she possesses,_ he thought to himself.

"Ms. Nagano has a notebook that only heads of the Occult Club possess. Since Phantom Girl _transferred_ , she was given the notebook." He took another puff of his cigarette. "I have a hunch that Phantom Girl kept more things in that notebook than mysticism and the fascination of the human body."

Mikoto opened the door to allow Senpai to leave. He walked from around the back and was heading for the house.

"We will be in touch," said the Journalist.

Senpai didn't look back. He displayed the peace sign in the air as the Hyundai disappeared into the night. He scoffed loudly before entering his home.

He walked into the kitchen and turned on the lights. He correctly confirmed that his father was not home. However, he did leave dinner on the stove for him. He looked at the dish.

"Mackerel and rice again," he sighed. "Dad, I am starting to think that this is one of the few things you manage to cook these days." Nevertheless, he unwrapped the plastic and began partaking on his meal.

While he was eating, he looked to the calendar. There was a particular day that was circle in red. It had one word in the center of the date.

 _うれしがる_ _(ureshigaru)_

 _Rejoice_

Senpai shook his head because the word itself was out of sarcasm. He forgotten that he wrote that word a few days ago. _So, it is today_ , he thought as he went to the refrigerator for a can of soda. He made a mental note to make oolong tea and have his warm bath ready for his father when he returned from grieving.


End file.
